


we'll grow apart, but baby let's blame the planets

by derogatory



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Violence, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, M/M, Rough Sex, Spoilers for Part 2, spoilers for part 3, sry these two are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11152782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: "I found out what you did with Chiba Salon." His nerves are like a guitar string pulled too tight, an errant strum away from breaking. "How could you do that to Momo?""To Momo," Yuki repeats, colorlessly.





	we'll grow apart, but baby let's blame the planets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [warfare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warfare/gifts).



Despite Banri deleting his contact info _multiple_ times, Banri somehow still has Yuki's address saved in his phone. Yuki must've added it back in every time they saw each other, sometimes even sneaking it into Banri's phone twice during one meeting. Banri deletes the entry every time, but whenever Yuki calls, the caller ID somehow always has Yuki's name and some nonsensical emojis. It's a minor, petty detail in a long list of grievances Banri holds against Yuki. He clutches each moment of irritation close, lets it mingle and bloat within the existing anger, curling fitfully in his gut. It's petty and stupid, Yuki's insistence Banri always have a way of contacting him again. 

But at least now he can use it to find Yuki's apartment.

A part of Banri, older and reserved, says anger is an easy crutch to lean on. With it, he doesn't have to reflect on himself and his mistakes, doesn't need to maintain the moral high ground. In anger there's no point to having grown up as a person, he doesn't need to move on from that old part of his life. He can just haul back and strike; do all the things angry young men did, things that are long behind Banri and this churning, miserable pit of fury inside him.

Another part of him, powerfully hollow, says, _But Yuki was working with Chiba Salon._

"Ban!" Yuki's voice is ecstatic as he buzzes the other man in. When he wrenches open his door, Yuki's practically beaming, bouncing on his heels. He's in loose, easy clothing; the apartment behind him is dim. It's past when he ought to be in bed and his stance in the doorway is relaxed and open.

The inside of Banri's cheek is bit raw. He doesn't want to spend any more time here than he has to. 

"I found out what you did with Chiba Salon."

Yuki's joyous expression doesn't even flinch. Like Banri delivering bad news doesn't outweigh the positives of Banri being here, in his foyer, in such a flurry of anger that Banri doesn't even take off his shoes when he storms towards Yuki.

"You worked with that place," Banri continues. His heart is clattering against his ribs in an erratic, infuriated tempo. Yuki's all matinee cheekbones and effortless good looks. Banri flexes his hands at his sides, his palms itch. "Re:vale had already debuted and you joined that stupid group." His nerves are like a guitar string pulled too tight, an errant strum away from breaking. "How could you do that to Momo?"

"To Momo," Yuki repeats, colorlessly.

"You didn't tell him." It's not a question. Yuki's looking at a spot on the carpet, like a guilty brat. _Even getting scolded, he's probably still happy you're here,_ Banri realizes and he seethes. "You're jeopardizing Re:vale, everything we—" Careful. "—Everything _you_ worked for." Yuki's silence is weightless, unsatisfying. Banri wants to throttle him. "How could you be so stupid? You never think."

"Hey," Yuki says and keeps his eyes downcast. His voice is on a careful undertone, a movie-practiced murmur. Banri sinks in the memory of hitting Yuki like it’s a warm bath. "It's like you said, Ban, Re:vale isn't yours anymore." The life has returned to his voice, his eyes looking away but challenging. "What do you care?"

Something jars in Banri's chest. Of course he cares. He cares about Momo, about Re:vale. He's a friend and a fan, these are important things for Momo's happiness. It would be bad for Idolish too, if word gets out that one of their mentors is a prostitute. Banri cares about Yuki and the Chiba Salon in a distant, unaffected way. Or he's told himself, ignoring the late hour and the way his throat burns from running straight to Yuki's apartment.

"I told you," Yuki continues and he steps closer. They're too close, Banri can't be held responsible if he breaks Yuki's nose at this distance. "I said I'd use any resource to find you." Banri remembers, just like he remembers how annoyed Yuki used to get when he had to repeat himself. He remembers both things and doesn't care about either of them.

"So you'd sleep with strangers to find me?" Banri asks, voice edged with meanness. 

Yuki's face is a smug flash of victory. "Why not? I know what my strengths are."

"You're not that good at it." Banri's annoyance is giving him a headache. "That's the excuse you're going with, huh? You did it because you wanted to find me?" Yuki nods. It's simple, like him. "Bullshit," Banri spits. "You don't get to screw for pay and make it into my fault."

"'Fault,'" Yuki echoes and he's not smiling anymore.

It's like landing a punch on a bruise. Banri knows it and leans into it, that easy, familiar thing of taunting Yuki, of hitting him in gut-deep insecurities. "You're blaming me, aren't you?"

"I'm not," Yuki starts and stops. Conflicted emotions play across his face. He'd become good at keeping his real feelings hidden; star idols would have to be. Banri used to scold him about it in the early days- Yuki's too honest, he tells too much with a look. Banri had tried to teach Yuki how to school his face into something blank and agreeable, how to hide those real feelings away from the cameras. It's for the best, he used to tell Yuki, whose lips kept curling into frowns. Now, Yuki's gotten better at it; someone must've worked hard with Yuki to achieve that. Maybe Momo, and Banri's heart sings at the thought. Of course, Momo is so much better for Yuki's idol career than he ever was. Banri had made the right choice, leaving Yuki behind.

It doesn't feel true in this moment, Yuki standing desperately close, face treacherously open. "Ban," he says, and again, in a small voice, "What do you care?" Banri remembers Yuki's head in his lap, like a dog's. "So that sort of thing happened, it's not that big of a deal."

Banri's not sure what part of the sentence set him off. Maybe that the potential ruin of Re:vale, of everything they worked for, of ruining Momo's perfect smile and their lifelong dreams is 'not that big of a deal.' Or maybe it's how Yuki references selling his body as something ordinary that happened, like fucking for pay is irrelevant, and that sex never means anything to someone as undeservedly beautiful as Yuki. That Yuki doesn't rank going to bed with anyone as a noteworthy experience and the sullen, miserable teenager inside Banri crying _Then why do it with me?_

Or maybe it's just a culmination of what's been the best and worst year of his life; a year where the Banri of the past met with the current, devoted employee Banri. A year where the strain of splitting himself into two incomplete pieces rubbed raw against his bones until they snapped.

Yuki's back hits the wall so hard there's no way the neighbors didn't hear it. Yuki tries to move away but Banri's hands close in the fabric of his sleep shirt, soft and worn.

"You are such an idiot," Banri's voice pops on each word, and the shiver that lances through Yuki's body does strange things to Banri's. "If this thing you did _for me_ gets out, it will ruin Re:vale." He gives Yuki a shake for emphasis. "So yeah, it is a big deal."

"What choice did I have?" Yuki asks. He hesitates, considering, before shoving Banri back, hard but not hard enough. He's all beauty, no brain and no brawns. Banri closes his fingers tighter around his shirt. "You didn't leave me anything." His voice borders on watery. "I had to look, I had to try. I had to know you were safe." Earlier Banri resorted to old tactics and now Yuki does the same, preying on sympathy, going in for dirty victories. Except Banri doesn't fall for that anymore.

"But you didn't find anything out, did you?" he mutters and Yuki moves to get away. Banri slams his body into Yuki's, pinning him hard to the wall. "You did all that dirty stuff and didn't get anything out of it." His fingers curl into the muscles of his shoulders. Yuki's skin is flushed. "I bet you even liked it."

Yuki's eyes flash. His face shifts through a wealth of emotions in an instant before settling on one. It's the type of look Banri sees during Re:vale's television appearances, the ones Banri watches from the corner of his eye. It's a coy, innuendo laden look, the kind Yuki wears when he's bantering with Momo. It's warm and self-satisfied. Bile rises in Banri's throat.

"So what if I did?" Yuki asks. It's a taunt, one that sends a wild sensation up Banri's spine. 

"You're such a messed up guy," he mutters. The longer he stays with Yuki the less sure Banri feels like this person he's become, the way he's matured. Banri's not the same punk he was when he ran around with Yuki. That Banri died the moment the lights and scaffolding fell, died in the seconds it took Banri to throw himself into harm's way for Yuki. It shouldn't take so much effort to let something dead stay dead, to let the person Yuki loved rot in the dirt. Banri flattens his hand over his bangs.

Yuki is so much of the same and it makes Banri feel loose and off balance.

"Hey, Ban?" His voice is low, eyelashes lower. He reaches out and traces a hand up Banri's sleeve, along the crisp dress shirt lines, fingertips dipping along his elbow. Banri snaps his arm back, but Yuki's hand moves faster, snakes out after him, catching Banri's wrist in his grip. "Don't you want to know what I did? With Chiba Salon."

Banri could break away, could twist Yuki's arm behind him and dislocate it from his shoulder. He could drag Yuki across the floor, hurl him off the balcony. He could rid himself of this awful specter of his past life for good, and never again have to force the door on his past closed. It could be locked tight, neatly and concretely, like it had been until the new Re:vale had been made aware of the old, before the second Yuki clapped eyes on Banri like a heroine in a shoujo manga. _Finally,_ his stare had said. _Finally, I found you._ Banri wanted to fling himself from the roof. Still does. Only maybe this time he'll grab Yuki and toss him off first.

Yuki turns Banri's hand over, tips his head down. "Don't you want to know what I did for you?" The kiss on his palm stings like a brand.

Banri pulls his arm away and swings a closed fist at Yuki's face. It connects with his cheek with a satisfying thump, the natural feeling of Yuki's body under him. It floods through Banri like alcohol, memories of grappling with Yuki. Pushing and getting pushed back, the hysterical thrill of Yuki squirming in his grip. Of pulling hair and twisting hips and Yuki laughing, victorious even when he's being held down. The memory is a dying flame in the center of his chest and every time Banri touches Yuki, it sparks to life; a brief, flickering burn of who he used to be.

Yuki's face snapped to the side with the blow and it stays there, frozen in the moment, eyes wide. For a fraction of a second Banri is guilty, and he wants to draw Yuki close and apologize. Then Yuki's face settles, dark and challenging and Banri doesn't have a sorry bone in his entire body.

"Stop it," Banri hisses, miserable with the thinness of his voice. "So you prostitute yourself to try and find me. You think I'd like that?" Even when he's just been hit, Yuki's eyes dance. Banri raises a fist again. Yuki doesn't even try to move away. "I don't. It's disgusting. You're—" he stops short. The hand he hit Yuki with is shaking.

Yuki lifts a hand to massage his jaw. "'I'm?'" Eyebrows up, tone curious.

"You're not for those people." And against all reason Banri finds he's leaning into Yuki. Yuki shifts his legs apart and Banri's body, traitorous and awful, slides a leg between his thighs.

"I'm not?" Yuki asks with a quiet affectation of innocence, like a show host just caught him in a lie.

"No." Banri's jaw hurts from how hard he's grinding his own teeth. “You're for—" Careful. "—Momo."

"Just Momo?" Yuki breathes and slides his hands over Banri's shoulders.

"That's what I said didn't I?" he snarls. It doesn't stop Yuki from moving closer. "Yuki," Banri says, warningly.

"I'm for you too," Yuki says on a hushed and cool breath, "and I learned all kinds of things there."

"Don't tell me that." He tries to wrench away but Yuki's hands, fingers interlaced at the back of Banri's neck, hold him in place. "I don't need to know about the rich old ladies that paid you to hold them." Yuki's laugh is a knife between his ribs, quiet and intimate as he rolls his hips against Banri's thigh. Banri's vision is starting to go white at the edges and he can't figure out if it's a rage blackout or something else, something worse. "Or the men that held you down and fucked you." The words taste like sand in his mouth.

"All right," Yuki says, and it's a goddamn purr. He's the worst, Banri's never hated anything as much as the way Yuki's voice drips with it that honeyed edge. "So what do you want me to tell you, Ban?" An edge that says he's only there to please. It tosses gasoline on the fire and Banri is engulfed with the force of it, with the surge of heat from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He crashes his lips into Yuki's, more bite than kiss, and the other man gloriously keens into it.

He tears Yuki away from the wall and out of his clothes, moving in frantic bursts of pushing and kissing. When his tongue snakes into Yuki's mouth, the other man moans and it's so sweet and simple that Banri tries to hit him again. Yuki pushes the strike away easy, parries it like it's an old dance routine and Banri hate, hate, hates how much he misses the way Yuki's breath catches the second Banri has him against the table.

Banri runs a hand through Yuki's hair, so much longer than when they were kids.

Yuki leans into the touch. "Ban," he whispers, high and hopeful.

Banri's hand drifts to the side of Yuki's face. He presses his thumb into the sore spot under his cheekbone and Yuki flinches, but doesn't move away.

"Turn around," he orders.

There's a momentary break, one where Banri fetches lotion from the bathroom. It's a new apartment, and Yuki's life is a new one from the one he'd had with Banri, but Banri still remembers the steps of it, the minutia of how Yuki lives. Where he keeps necessary things.

Yuki stays where he's told, hands on the table, bare ass in the air.

"You're going to make me change my mind," Banri warns when Yuki notices him re-enter the room, shakes his hips as a greeting.

"No you won't," Yuki says indulgently, with so much idol confidence Banri considers throwing the bottle at him and leaving. Then he notices one of Yuki's hands disappear from the tabletop, slide between his own legs with a few teasing strokes. Yuki arches his hips and Banri crosses the room in an instant. He makes sure when he slams Yuki's face into the table, it's with the bruised side down. Pressing slick fingers into Yuki, Banri remembers where to curl his fingers and Yuki scrambles for something to hold onto, moaning wet against the tabletop. They both still know the steps of it, the comfortable ways they fit together.

He ought to take more time to prep Yuki, but this was never supposed to be a friendly visit. Yuki goaded him into this and he fell for it. He's as bad as when they were kids and Banri's worse, rising to all the taunts he convinced himself don't mean anything anymore. Things that shouldn't matter when Banri is a changed man, one who's moved on from who he was and what he did, from punk to pop star to professional. He's Banri-san, devoted employee of Takahashi Productions, devoted supporter of Idolish7 and valued worker. He's not this person crouched over Yuki, the world's top idol, cool composure ruined as Banri bottoms out inside him. 

Yuki is tight and warm and familiar.

And, awfully, Banri can tell Yuki was telling the truth earlier; he has gotten better. 

Yuki rolls his hips with a practiced ease he didn't have when they were teenagers, when they had stumbled over each other, leaving different types of bruises against their skin. Yuki braces his hands on the table for leverage, feet planted confidently apart. Sheets of hair spill over his shoulder, down his back, conditioned silk obscuring the slim column of his white neck. Even in this shameful position, the idol knows his angles.

Banri jerks his hips forward unkindly and Yuki's body jolts with it. He gives a small, strangled sound and Banri chases it, fucking Yuki with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. The confident position crumbles and Yuki slinks further over the table, face cushioned by his arms, body sliding over the sweat-slick tabletop.

Banri's fingers dig into the back of Yuki's neck, holding his face down. Yuki who wouldn't let it go, who couldn't bear to be separated from Banri even when he was told to move on with his life. He had Momo and fame and success, but Yuki couldn't leave it well enough alone. He isn't smart enough for that. He never thinks. He does dumbass things like signing up with Chiba Salon, like screwing for money on the off chance someone somewhere could tell him where Banri went. What was the point in Banri disappearing if Yuki made a mess of things all by himself?

"I wanna see you," Yuki says, voice cutting through the sound of their bodies together. Banri grimaces, tries to ignore him. Yuki whimpers and ruts back against him. "Ban, please." He muffles a shout when Banri buries himself to the hilt, gathering Yuki's hair in his fist. 

"No," Yuki whines, rocking back against the contact. "I want to see you."

"You don't deserve that," Banri says, voice hot. Yuki nods quick, doesn't care what it's about; whether he deserves to see Banri or if he deserved how things fell apart between them. Or maybe it's Chiba Salon that Yuki didn't deserve. Didn't deserve to go through that just for scraps of Banri, for a fleeting hope he'd get his friend back, his group back, as if Momo wasn't enough for him. Banri can't think straight, not when he's fucking into Yuki, all hot and inviting.

He wraps the hair in his grip around his fist (we both grew it so _long_ Banri thinks, pointlessly) and pulls hard. Yuki whimpers, neck wrenched back as Banri forces his head back. Yuki's mouth hangs open, lips bitten raw. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, and his cheek is already purpling with bruises. He definitely deserved to be hit like that, but it'll be trouble in the morning. Yuki probably has a promo or shoot tomorrow; he'll have to get some makeup to cover that bruise up. He better not let Momo see it, if he knows what's good for him. 

When they lock eyes, Yuki comes in an instant, untouched, like they're kids again. He tightens around Banri in violent, recognizable ways and Banri splinters apart with useless wanting. He bows himself over Yuki's slim back and comes buried deep.

He slides a hand under Yuki and turns him onto his back. Yuki peers up at him with blissed-out, blown pupils and Banri struggles through the building affection that twists through him, that wants to strangle him. Better to focus on his anger, on how many other people have seen Yuki like this. Something that should be just for Momo (and, during a time Banri's locked away, for him.) It must've been a common sight at the Chiba Salon; Yuki wrecked and filthy under the gaze of men who stepped aside and let the next in line stuff Yuki full, relentlessly fuck him through the mess.

With that kind of history, Yuki's got no right to smile like he does, infuriatingly wide. "Ban," he says, and his voice is raw. He holds out his arms, inviting Banri to embrace him. "Don't you feel better now?"

Banri flicks his finger against the head of Yuki's dick.

**Author's Note:**

> for my best girl on her best day. i wrote this so you don't have to.


End file.
